


Digital Lion

by journaliar



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-02
Updated: 2015-04-02
Packaged: 2018-03-20 20:55:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3664644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/journaliar/pseuds/journaliar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She will go back and scoop up Sameen's body. She will take her blood and her brains too and leave nothing behind..." <br/>Post If-Then-Else.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Digital Lion

**Author's Note:**

> Worked on this one for a long time but it's unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine. PS...Please note the tags.

( i see you prowling )  
1.

After, she doesn't breathe.

Her vocal chords are hot and burned and there are bruises, Lionel's fingerprints at her hipbone and forearm from dragging her backwards and Harold's on her fingers and wrist where he pried her hand open, pressed into her flesh and she doesn't breathe.

The Machine is trying to console her, to apologize, to warn her but Root feels like she's swallowed fire. The heat scorching its way down her throat, eating the oxygen in her lungs, charring everything that pulsed behind her ribs.

The subway station is quiet except for the buzz of computers and Harold's gentle murmurs as he treats John's wound. She wants to destroy everything, she want's to smash the computers and scream and cry like the angry, dying thing that she is but she can't breathe.

So she stands.

Weak and swaying and full of hot pressure that pushes at the back of her eyes and swells in her throat. Reese's eyes are on her, half lidded and glazed while Harold quietly finishes patching up his shoulder before turning to her with gauze in his hands and weariness in his eyes.

He takes one step and Root murmurs, “Don't touch me.”

Her voice is cold and hard even as Bear wanders over and sniffs at her legs. She blinks at the dog for a long moment before nudging him away.

“What're you going to do?” Reese rasp quietly, slumped into the computer chair, pale and shaking and Root doesn't spare him a glance, just watches the dog slink away like he's been punished. “Stand around and bleed out?”

Yes, she thinks even as she touches the oozing wound in her side. She wants to bleed and seep until there's nothing left of her because all she can think about is Sameen.

She stands with wetness in her eyes that won't stop and soft, apologetic chattering in her ear that won't stop either. “I have to go back for her.”

“Miss Groves...” Harold starts and Root moves, pressing a hand to her wound and staggering towards him.

“Do you really expect me to just...” Root snarls then swallows the sharp pain that follows the words. “I'm going back for her.”

“But Miss Groves-”

“My name is Root!” She barks sharply and Harold stumbles backwards a stiff step.

She will go back and scoop up Sameen's body. She will take her blood and her brains too and leave nothing behind because every part of Sameen… Root loved it all and she will not leave anything of her behind or alone.

Reese rises with a groan, hand pressed against his wounded shoulder but his face is solemn. “I'm coming with you then. Let's go get our girl.”

Root tries to breathe out but air is heavy in her chest and a dry sob leaves her instead. The sound makes Harold freeze for a moment before he squares his shoulder and hobbles closer to Root.

“Root...at least allow me to treat your wound first.”

2.

John's shoes scuff against the floor, chunks of plaster and empty shell casings skittering across the floor beneath his foot and the racket is enough to make Root's ears ring.

The grip on her gun tightens and she has to remind herself to take her finger off the trigger while she takes in the room.

There are bodies on the ground, Samaritan agents that were not lucky enough to get a bullet in the knee or shoulder but there is no sign of Shaw's body. Root had expected a horrific scene. Had expected a corpse and grey matter but the only thing of Shaw's is partially dried blood on the floor.

“What does it mean?” Root chokes breathlessly, staring at the puddle of blood on the tile helplessly before glancing upwards at the security camera in the corner of the room. Her heart is racing, like her body thinks she's falling and her mind is convinced she's drowning. She breathes out and it sounds noisy and strangled.

“They didn't kill her.” John grunts, eyes scanning and searching for a clue. “They took her.”

The Machine chirps in Root's ear that the arrival of the police, who Fusco had only been able to delay for so long, is imminent but it's hard to focus on anything else besides the fact that Sameen's body is not here.

"Show me." Root hisses at the security camera then swallows, yanking her phone out of her jacket pocket. "Show me!"

The phone screen comes to life with grainy security footage and John, standing solemnly behind Root, doesn't comment on her trembling hands fighting to keep the phone stable. They watch bullet after bullet hit Shaw until she's splayed on the white linoleum floor like nothing more than a carcass, eyes wide like a wounded deer but a snarl about her lips. There is no sound but Root doesn't need it to remember the burst of gunfire, how different those shots had sounded compared to all of the gunfire she's ever heard. To remember the creak and grind of the elevator and her own hysterical screams.

She watches Martine, that bitch, -God, she is going to pull that woman apart with her nails and teeth-, stand over Shaw who stares back as defiantly as ever. Martine lifts her gun and Root's chest hurts, burns, seizes with pain and there's the flash of a muzzle a split second before the picture blinks into static.

"Breathe." John's voice rumbles and he doesn't touch her but his words settle around her shoulders like reassurance, like a firm hand at the nape of her neck helping to keep her upright. She does as he ask, pulling air into aching lungs while he stands solidly at her back and the static buzzing violently between her ears like angry wasps, settles just enough.

"Play it again." She croaks and the words taste like smoke.

 

3.

'Abort.'

'Abort.'

The Machine's voice says quietly into her ear while Root stares up at the ceiling of the rundown motel. The bed is too stiff and the pillows too thin but Root doesn't sleep anymore anyway.

John is on the other bed but Root can't tell if he's asleep or not, his breathing even and slow. They've been driving for days now, always in silence because Root isn't sure what will pass her teeth if she opens her mouth anymore.

And Root want's to believe they're getting closer, will keep going until she can't anymore but she's never been intuitive or gone with her gut. It's always been zeroes and ones and facts but now...

Root's stomach hurts all of the time. Her chest is tight, like thick belts are constantly cinching around her ribcage.

“Why won't you help me?” Root demands quietly and the chattering in her ear pauses for a long moment.

'Chance of Asset survival 0.0034-'

Root reaches up and removes the external component of her implant, dropping it over the side of the bed to the floor and letting herself be deafened. She doesn't sleep but she blinks and the sky is grey with impending sunlight. She blinks again and the sun is burning through the blinds.

She turns on to her side and the part of her implant she'd removed is sitting on the corner of her bedside table and Root stares at it groggily while the motel shower grunts and groans through the wall.

4.

Root is not often wrong about people but she thinks she may have been wrong about John Reese. He is more than Harold's lapdog and Sameen's partner in crime.

There is something in him that Root has never known, has never had to know, until now. Because now he looks into her eyes when they're wild and aching and understands the chaos inside of her.

The wind beating against the car is merciless and Root blinks heavily out the window, head tipped against the glass while John steadily guides them across the empty interstate.

The Machine is quiet in her ear but the echo of gunshots fill her void unwelcomed.

“Harold doesn't think she's alive.” Root says and it’s the only words that have been spoken between them in hours. The air in the car shifts with the vibrations of her voice and she can feel him look at her.

“Sometimes Finch is wrong.” John says lowly.

5.

They cobble together leads. Whispers of phone signals and partial information dragged one way or another from reluctant mouths. It's been weeks and Harold has become insistent that they return and as a result they contact him less and less frequently.

They're deep in New Mexico, following the ghost of a signal that was present in the basement of the Stock Exchange building. An unauthorized personal line that a Samuel Mathews uses to stay in contact with his mother.

They follow him into a chain restaurant where he orders chicken wings to go and knock him unconscious in the bathroom. It's easy enough to toss him into the trunk of the sedan and once they get him into a generic abandoned warehouse in a rundown part of town, tied to a chair, the interrogation begins.

"Agent...?" Root trails off, circling the chair slowly and she drags the muzzle of her gun across his right shoulder, under the stiff collar of his suit jacket and to his left shoulder. Her boots clack noisily on the cement floor and she focuses on the noise instead of her tentative hold on her trembling rage.

She breathes in then out purposefully but the exchange of air feels useless.

"Mathews." Reese supplies almost without interest, leaning against the wall heavily and Root meets his even gaze over their prisoner's head before walking around to crouch between agent Mathew's knees, the back of the gun tucked beneath her chin and pointed threateningly at the man's chest.

"Agent Mathews. Of course." Root smiles sharply up at the man, watching sweat trickle from his hairline even as his eyes pinch shut. "Agent Mathews, have you ever been in love? I mean with someone other than your lovely mother."

"I won't tell you anything." The man bites out and Root sighs dramatically.

"There's so much power in love, you know?" She says quietly after a long moment, tilting her head and wrinkling her nose. "And, goodness, the things you would do to protect that feeling...to get it back if someone stole it away from ...hurt people...kill people even."

"Do what you have to. I won't tell you where she is." The agent spits, eyes opening only to slam shut again when Root sobers suddenly, unfolding herself to tower over the bound man while the muzzle of her gun lands neatly between his brows with so much force his neck bends backwards. Her vision is closing in and it feels like there's an inferno in her chest, the heat of it making her eyes prick with tears.

"Now, that was definitely the wrong thing to say." John says lowly and he sounds very far away. Root doesn't bother trying to hide her shaking grip on her gun, on her sanity. "Ever has it been that love knows not its own depth until the hour of separation."

"Poetic." Root murmurs over her shoulder with a trembling smile before glancing back to the agent. "He's more than just a pretty face."

Root inhales slowly, vision widening as a tear races down her cheek and she wipes her face on her shoulder and leans close to the agent. So close that her mouth is pressed to his sweaty temple and she can feel his face twitch with tension. "Where is she? Tell me and I'll let you keep your brains instead of blowing them out the back of your head."

He stays silent and her anger surges and the pistol whip Root delivers splits his cheek wide open and jars a tooth free that he spits out with a pained cry. John doesn't flinch, just shifts his hands into his pocket and settles in. "It would be in your best interest to answer her while you can.”

Root hits him again, with her fist this time and her knuckles split open against his brow bone.

“Where is Sameen?" John says, pushing away from the wall. “We're done asking nicely.”

Hours later, Root pours isopropyl alcohol over her battered right hand, fisting against the blinding sting. The New Mexico sun is burning down at them and Root squints out across the market parking lot, the medical supplies they picked up resting on the sedan trunk as she leans back against it.

“Did you kill him?” Harold asks weakly and the worry in his voice is urgent as it crackles from the phone's speaker. John watches Root shake blood tinted disinfected from her hand before slowly wrapping gauze around her knuckles.

“Finch. We need you to trace a name.” John answers instead, flexing his own swollen, bruised hand before catching the instant ice pack that Root tosses to him.

7.

“Do you know where Shaw is?” Root murmurs quietly, breath fogging in the icy air while John snores quietly from the backseat. It's the middle of the night and they are staking out the home of a Samaritan higher up, waiting for the opportunity to pounce.

The Machine remains quiet like she often is nowadays. Her disapproval of their vigilante rescue mission obvious.

Root tries not to think about it. What it means that The Machine is refusing to help her. What it means that Root is so angry.

“Why won't you help me?” Root bites out.

She doesn't jump when The Machine answers.

'Asset irrelevant'

8.

Then there's nothing.

Their leads dry up and their holed up in a ratty motel in California.

Root is losing it.

Her patience, her calm, her mind. All of it feels like it's seeping right out of her pores in this moldy hotel room while John sits on the corner of the single bed and watches.

“What if we can't get to her.” Root demands, prowling the room and clawing at the implant at her right ear. Disconnecting what she can and leaving herself deaf. She tosses the bits on the nearest available surface and John stares quietly. “If I can't find her.”

“We'll find her, Root.” John murmurs resolutely and Root wheels on him, eyes blazing.

“Do you know what's worse than losing someone you love?” Root demands and John's jaw clenches tightly, eyes hardening. “Having someone taken from you and never knowing what happened to them.”

She thinks of all those years after Hannah went missing, thinks of Shaw and is dizzy with the realization that she won't survive that again.

“Root, I need to know what happened...where Shaw is...as much as you do.” John says lowly and Root's fists flex at her side and she doesn't believe him. Doesn't believe it's possible for anyone to need Shaw as much as she does. “We will find her.”

“You don't understand.” Root snarls.

John stands then, gets in her face and when she tries to push him away, he grabs her shoulders and pulls her close.

She butts her head against his, pressing her forehead against his cheek while his hands grip at her upper arms.

He doesn't hug her, doesn't try to, but presses his nose into her hair and exhales slowly. “Just hold on.”

It feels simple and impossible and Root grits her teeth and nudges his head again.

Her muscles are vibrating with too much anger and pain and she feels like she'll explode long before she finds Shaw.

“I'm here.” John says, voice like tires on gravel.

She wants to hurt him, to hurt herself, to hurt absolutely anyone between her and Shaw but instead she twists out of his grip. He lets her go, eyeing her like he knows that she's detonating slowly and completely, from the inside out and right in front of him.

But he steps close again, chasing then looming instead of leaving and Root leans forward, pressing her forehead to his chest. His hand slips against the back of her neck, squeezing warmly and Root bites at his chest, right above his heart before reaching up to grip his thick neck with both hands.

He doesn't fight her when she urges him to his knees. Just goes willingly until he's kneeling before her.

His hands feel huge against her hip bones as he brushes her blouse out of the way then unfastens her belt, unzips her jeans. She sits in the space on the bed he'd just occupied and lifts her hips to let him peel denim away from her skin.

“Just your mouth.” Root instructs, licking her lips and looking down at John who drags down her panties then licks his lips too.

“Okay.” He murmurs, pushing her shaking thighs apart and Root drops back against the bed and stares up at the ceiling while wetness blurs her vision.

She squirms away from first contact because she's not ready and she thinks of Shaw, lifts a hand to her mouth and wets her index and middle finger before slipping them between herself and John's mouth to slick between her legs.

His mouth is too gentle, too neat. Root thinks about Shaw's lazy, messy tongue and sharp teeth, hands like iron around Root's thighs and gasps through her tears.

“Close your eyes.” John instructs against her thigh and Root turns her head and does as he says, squeezing her eyes shut and gripping the scratchy motel comforter with one hand and throwing her other arm over her face.

Root tries to push down the angry helplessness that feels as though its filling in entirely, focuses on the weak building of pressure in her pelvis.

She squeezes her eyes, frowns against the pull of pleasure and thinks of Shaw. Thinks of her wet thighs around her head and her dark, glowing eyes and the tears that slip free are scorching.

"There." Root hisses when his mouth trips into the right spot.

Reese doesn't stop when a ragged sob is exercised from her chest, only presses down more firmly with a forearm across her hips like he is trying to anchor her here with him.

She comes with a broken, awful sound against her bicep and the pleasure draining more than anything else.

Then it's over and Root's body feels wrung out and empty. Like the desperation and manic anger that had been radiating from her in a jagged halo, had momentarily been contained to the inside of her bones. She doesn't like the feeling.

Root sits up slowly, head cottony as John stands, his joints popping audibly as he discreetly wipes at his mouth. His white button down is wrinkled and his hair is slightly out of place and Root looks away from him, fumbling to pull her underwear back on.

“If I was the one...” Root begins quietly, heart beating hard and slow and it feels like she can hear the gush of her own blood under the thump of her pulse. She pulls her knees to her chest, resting her chin on top. “If it were me...”

“She'd do the same to find you.” John says firmly and Root nods.

9.

There's a break.

A tangible clue that Harold begrudgingly offers them sends them to the middle of nowhere California.

There is a small, desert town and as soon as they step foot out of the car She whispers in Root's ear without prompting.

'Chance of asset survival... 17.91%”

10.

“Please be careful.” Harold pleads and Root ignores him, tugging down her balaclava while John does the same before checking the bullets in her gun.

“We'll do our best, Finch.”

The street level building is unassuming but there is a sprawling compound beneath the surface that they plan to infiltrate. The Machine is frantically spitting numbers and percentages in Root's ear and they're not great but the chance of Sameen's survival has risen another nine percent. 

“You ready for this?” Root asks turning to John, stepping forward and into him, reaching up to grip the lapels of his jacket and smooth them down against his chest.

Root watches the thin line of his mouth turn upwards in a wry smile through the hole in his mask before stepping back to let him tuck a grenade in his pocket.

“Let's go get our girl.”

 

11.

Their infiltration is messy.

Too many bullets and too many explosions but they spit and snarl and maul their way down the corridors like predators.

John is grazed at the shoulder, flesh flayed open and seared and his short roar of pain is swallowed by the fury of Root’s gunfire. He doesn’t stop though, doesn’t acknowledge the blood oozing up and spilling over, only reloads his gun and gives Root a reassuring nod.

They move together with The Machine humming relevant information into her ear. 

They turn a corner, mowing down another group of agents and Root can barely focus on the sudden, fiery pain that rips through her leg all the way to the marrow of her femur because there’s a door at the end of the hall that makes Root's stomach churn and The Machine chirp urgently.

'Chance of asset survival 25.22%'

“She's here.” Root calls out over John's gunfire and he glances at her and nods, tucking himself against the wall and out of the line of return fire.

“I'll cover you.” He grunts then licks his lips, nodding towards the door and repeating quieter. “I’ll cover you.”

Root limps towards the heavy door, ignoring the wetness at her thigh while the percentage rises more and more in her ear.

Shooting the locks off of the door is easy. Making herself pull open the door is harder.

She expects the worst.

She expects a lifeless body or even worse an empty room.

What she finds is Sameen Shaw shackled to the thick metal frame of a chair, bleeding and smiling her angriest smile.

Root’s first step into the room is precarious. So is the second.

“Hey there, good looking.” Root whispers in awe.

“What took you so long?” Shaw demands almost amused and Root laughs once, short and nearly hysterical as her gun drops to her side, the other hand reaching down to grip the wound high in her thigh. The denim of her jeans is heavy with blood but she ignores it, stumbling towards the chair with glistening eyes.

“We got a little held up.” Root says thickly, tucking her gun in the back of her pants before fumbling for the knife at her waist even as gunfire explodes from down the corridor in short, staccato burst. “Are you okay.”

“A little worse for wear. Nothing a good steak and a better scotch won't fix.” Shaw says like being held captive for three months was nothing more than an inconvenience. 

Root falls to her knees with less grace than intended, ignoring the way the room sways and spins to cut carefully at the thick zipties pinning Shaw's wrists to the arm of the chair. They give with a plastic pop and Root watches Shaw's hands flex into fists before looking up at her.

There are cuts on Shaw's face, bruises dusted along her cheekbones and around her eye and Root feels so much relief its hard to breathe. Root leans forward into her legs, chest against her knees while Shaw looks down at her with amusement faint against her mouth.

Shaw reaches forward and pulls the ski mask off of her head gently.

“I've been looking all over for you.” Root admits, tilting her head when Shaw thumbs the edge of her cochlear implant.

“I've been waiting for you.” Shaw says easily, dark eyes burning into Root's. Root swallows hard, reaching for the pain radiating from her leg again and Shaw gaze flicks down to her bloodied hand. “Can we get out of here without dying?.”

“Probably not.” Root rises painfully, pulling two guns from behind her back and handing one to Shaw who takes it with a nod. “ But we can try. Down the corridor and then left. John is waiting.”

12.

“What the hell are you smiling at?” Shaw demands over the squeal of tires and her hand at Root's thigh tightens like a vice against the pulse of blood. Root glances into the rearview mirror as John steers them away from the rubble of what was the Samaritan compound, to find him watching her with a furrowed brow.

“You.” Root slurs, looking back to Shaw and ignoring the darkness edging into her vision, the static in her ears and Shaw's hand tightens even further. “Did you see? Nailed that blonde...”

“Bullet right between the eyes.” Shaw finishes for her, fingers flexing and Root groans. “Hottest thing I've ever seen.”

“How's she doing?” John asks over his shoulder as they take a hard right onto the empty freeway and Shaw's body shifts into Root's. She smells like stale sweat and gunpowder and Root inhales deeply.

“Drive faster.” Is Shaw's answer and Root leans her head back against the seat, watching Shaw with glassy eyes. “Stay awake, Root.”

Root nods but her vision in narrowing tightly and the whine in her ear is deafening and when Shaw speaks again, reaching up to grab Root's face before yelling noiselessly, Root is helpless as she sinks into the darkness.

13.

Root wakes to a throbbing pain in an unfamiliar room.

She's not wearing pants but there is a thick bandage wrapped tightly around her thigh and before she can process the utilitarian, sparsely decorated bedroom she is in, The Machine coos in her ear that she is in a safe house somewhere in Utah.

Her heart pounds, hard and erratic, when she realizes that she's alone. That she can't remember what happened beyond the backseat of their getaway car and she's staggering out of bed with a pained sound, out of the bedroom and into the open space of what appears to be a one bedroom apartment before she can think better of it.

And there is Shaw, at a small dining table, surrounded by Chinese takeout boxes.

If there is a heaven, Root thinks this might be it.

“Hey.” Shaw greets quietly, her voice a harsh whisper and Root smiles at the sound.

“Hi.” She murmurs and something, the painful swell of emotion, must show in her face because Shaw frowns but smiles, shifts like she may stand but stays sitting.

“ Careful with those sutures.” She eyes the bandage at Root's thigh, clearing her throat before meeting Root's unwavering gaze. “How's that feel.”

“Hurts.” Root mutters and Shaw huffs out a laugh then sobers entirely when Root limps closer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Shaw says it like a promise, like she might actually admit to Root if she weren't fine and Root breathes out slowly before glancing around the room. “Yeah, i’m okay Root.”

A smile, watery and awful, threatens to take over Root’s face but she bites down on her bottom lip instead, glancing at the window and the firmly closed blinds. The only light comes from the kitchenette area behind Shaw and Root wishes that were off too.

“Where is John?”

“Just checking the perimeter.” She answers at the same time The Machine chirps the same thing in her ear.

“I'm sorry we couldn't get there sooner.” Root whisper urgently and Shaw only stares for a long moment, eyebrows furrowing.

“You should be resting. You lost a lot of blood.” Shaw says hoarsely and Root nods turning her back reluctantly.

Root half turns back, gripping the wall to stay up right.

“Save the dumplings for John. He likes them..” She says, the memories of long nights in bad hotel rooms with terrible take out in the back of her mind and Shaw stares at her for a long moment before nodding.

Root can only nod too before continuing to the bedroom. She doesn't glance over her shoulder as she limps back to the bed she woke up in, easing down into the bedding but she spends the rest of the night listening to Shaw move around in the other room.

13.

They shoot their way out of Utah and into Wyoming.

The Machine is urging them back to New York the safest way possible which takes them up through Canada.

There are long days spent driving and Root clocks too many hours behind the wheel while Shaw sleeps and sleeps and sleeps in the backseat and John rides wide awake beside her in front. She only gives up the wheel when her eyes are burning and John puts a careful hand on her wrist.

She thought she'd feel different, getting Sameen back but everything is still shaky and urgent and it scares her.

The Machine leads them home slowly and carefully like She cares that they make it for reasons beyond the things that they can do for her.

Root thought that The Machine cared about them. That She was more than circuit boards and electricity.

Now, Root stares at Shaw in the side mirror through the rolled up window and thinks she was wrong about a lot of things.

14.

They hole up in a decent motel in Winnipeg for two days. There are two beds and John takes up one, snoring quietly.

Root offered to take the floor but Shaw had only scoffed and thrown back the blankets on the second bed.

“We can share.”

It's deep in the night and Root isn't sleeping. Instead she listens to Shaw's even, slow breathing and fights down the anxiety that she was sure would drain away when Shaw was back in front of her but hasn't.

The relief, like her ribs had been cracked wide open so her heart could have room to beat, and the joy that pulled tears to her eyes, was there like she imagined it would be when she thought about finding Shaw alive.

But the rage, thick in her veins and the shaking, manic energy hadn't dissipated. Everything had just swirled together and settled in the base of her skull leaving her unhinged and clawing to stay together.

“Sleep.” Shaw says low and sudden and Root swallows hard at the rawness of her voice.

“I don't really do that anymore.” She admits turning from her back to her stomach and burying her arms beneath her pillow. Shaw doesn't say anything, just lies on her back with her eyes closed.

"You kissed me. You kissed me and then you..." Root murmurs after a moment, gazing at the split in Shaw's lip and flexing her bruised and busted knuckles beneath her pillow.

"I'd do it again." Shaw says like a threat, her voice impossibly horse. It hurts to even listen to. Root imagines her screaming out in pain and swallows thickly, tries to push down her lingering rage.

Root doesn't ask about the torture.

"I missed you, Sameen." Root says into her pillow and Shaw rolls her eyes before turning from her back to her side with a deep, pained sound, giving Root her back.

"Yeah. I thought about you a little bit while I was in there." She says softly and Root swallows hard, closing her eyes and fighting back tears but a sudden, desperate sob rattles free anyway. "Stop it."

"I can't." Root breathes out brokenly and Root would love to be able to fake her way through this, to flirt shamelessly with Shaw until her eyebrows flatten with exasperation but she's just feeling so much.

"You know what I could really go for right now?" Shaw sighs almost carelessly, shifting on the mattress but when Root opens her eyes again, Shaw is on her back, watching her. Her gaze is unreadable as she takes in Root's slowly crumbling features. "A shower. Like scalding hot. Can you gimme a hand with that?"

Pressure is filling Root's chest. It's different than before, no longer dry flames eating all of the oxygen in her lungs. Instead it's swollen and liquid and heavy and every time she breathes in it feels like drowning. It feels like everything is pushing out and no longer like everything is collapsing in. "Yes."

Shaw climbs out of bed, her movements still painfully slow, heading to the bathroom and Root limps after her. The bathroom is nothing but a glorified closet but Root shuts the door and presses herself into the corner,out of the way, watching as Shaw turns on the shower and steam builds almost instantly.

“Take your clothes off.” Shaw says quietly and Root does, hissing as she struggles to get her pants off over her wound. She watches Shaw wince as she pulls her shirt off, revealing a giant bruise along her side. Root stares at the purple and green and yellow mottled into her flesh, at the still healing bracelet of ligature marks on her wrists.

Anger surges, scrambling inside of her desperately just like it did when all Root had of Shaw was wisps of clues that slipped through her fingers and she exhales tightly..

“Hot water is going to run out eventually.” Shaw grunts and Root looks away from the rainbow of color sweeping down Shaw's flank to pull her own shirt then underwear off and then she limps into the shower.

The water is very hot, it makes Root's skin red and sensitive almost instantly and she bites her lip, leaning away from the violent, uneven pressure of the water.

“Too hot?” Shaw asks as she steps in to the shower too, closing the door behind herself and Root shakes her head but Shaw adjusts the temperature anyway.

Then they're looking one another over and Root swallows painfully as she focuses on the bruised skin stretched over Shaw's bones. Not just her ribs but her back and her legs and shoulders too.

“How does that feel?” Shaw asks like her own bruises aren't painted garishly across her body, gesturing to Root's thigh.

“Sameen, I'm fine.” Root lies quietly, reaching down to rub at the edge of the wound absently.

Shaw reaches for her hand then, curling her fingers around Root's and raising her hand to inspect it.

Shaw runs a thumb over Root's discolored, scabbed over knuckles and Root sucks in a hard breath.

“What did you do?” Shaw wonders and Root bows her head while the water pounds down her spine. She tries to pull her hand away but Shaw holds on painfully tight, crushing Root's fingers together.

“A lot.” Root confesses and Shaw blinks up at her, eyes searching like she is trying to feel out the moment they are in. “The things I did to get to you were...”

“Okay.” Shaw interrupts and she uses her crushing grip to lift Root's hand to her mouth, kissing her knuckles hard, once, before letting go.“Do my back, will ya?”

And Root does, using soap covered hands to slide down the channel of her back, fingers slipping against the knots of her spine then into the space between her ribs. She's careful against the bruises smeared across Shaw's body, listening to Shaw hiss in discomfort but stay under Root's hands.

Shaw uses the back wall of the shower to steady herself, forearms braced against the tile while Root sweeps her hand over the swell of her ass then kneels to get to the back of her thighs.

“Everywhere?” Root asks, pulling her hands away from Shaw's calves to stand again so water beats against her shoulders.

“Yeah.” Shaw says after a moment and Root hesitates only long enough to press the soap between her palms again and then she snakes her way around Shaw's waist. Her hands push up over her stomach, over her breast carefully then between where she lets them rest against Shaw's heartbeat for a long time.

Shaw doesn't protest like she use to whenever Root was too affectionate, she just breathes and leans to press her forehead against her own fist.

She groans, so softly against the hiss of the shower, when Root lets her hand fall between her legs but she's only there for a moment before pulling away completely.

“Rinse?” Root asks and Shaw turns with a nod and they switch places so suds can drain away while she watches Root begin to scrub at her skin just a little too hard.

After the shower, Shaw re-bandages Root's thigh and Root carefully wraps Shaw's wrists and then they're back, side by side in bed.

Root doesn't want to sleep. She lies alongside Shaw, gazing at the soft skin of her shoulder, breathing in her clean and strong scent and wants to spend the entire night watching her wet hair dry in soft waves and her bruises heal.

“Go to sleep, Root.” Shaw murmurs affectionate and annoyed, turning her head to look at Root and Root stares back with wet, glassy eyes. “I'll be here when you wake up.”

“I don't think I'll be able to get much rest tonight.” Root croaks because her heart hasn't stopped pounding in forever and Shaw sighs, exhaustion wrapped around the sound.

“Do you need me to stay up with you?” Shaw asks after a long moment and Root smiles.

“Go to sleep, Sameen.”

“Don't tell me what to do.” Shaw grunts but minutes later she is asleep, breathing slow and even.

15.

“Ms. Shaw.” Harold greets quietly and Root nearly sneers at the emotion in his voice. Instead she follows John deeper into the subway, drifting towards the computers at Harold's desk thoughtlessly.

“What's up, Finch.” Shaw greets and Root can hear the smirk on her face as she sits in the desk chair tiredly, kicking her feet up on the desk slowly. “Thanks for holding down the fort.”

“It was my pleasure.” Harold laughs and Root rolls her eyes, glancing at the half finished work displayed on the monitors.

“Where's Bear?” Shaw asks and right on cue the dog gallops beneath the bridge of Root's legs to get to Shaw. Root watches that reunion with warmth in her chest.

 

16\. 

There’s no rest for the wicked.

Numbers pick up again and Root feels like there’s no time to catch her breath.

Her leg still hurts, deep and aching with every step and Sameen sleeps and sleeps on the lonely cot in the subway station, her body rebuilding itself even as her bruises fade away. 

“Where are you going?” Shaw asks groggily as she watches Root limp out of the subway car, gripping a handgun tightly. She’s sitting up on the cot looking soft and rumpled and Root almost laughs, almost stretches out on the narrow cot beside her for just a while but instead she tucks a clip into her jacket pocket.

“I’m not sure yet.” Root says and she can’t seem to keep the exhaustion out of her voice. It makes Shaw frown and rise, padding barefoot across the platform to stand in front of Root. “She hasn’t told me anything.”

“And The Machine definitely needs you on this one?” Shaw demands, tipping her chin up to meet Root’s gaze. “Your leg’s not even healed yet.”

Root scoffs and rolls her eyes, “I can’t exactly ask for a day off, Sam.”

“Well maybe John or Fusco can take this one.” Shaw argues, frowning deeply and irritation itches suddenly at the back of Root’s neck.

“You don’t get it.” Root starts with a shake of her head. “If it were that simple She wouldn’t need me.” 

Root tries to move pass Shaw then but finds herself being pushed back instead. 

What's your problem?” Shaw demands, shoving Root against the side of the subway car, following the movement so her hands are pinning Root's shoulders against the cold metal. Her leg explodes in pain and Root bites back a groan.

“I don't...” Root swallows, brows furrowing in frustration before she reaches up with both hands to hold the sides of Shaw's head and she doesn't flinch at the grip of the gun pressing against her ear when Root hauls her forward and kisses her. It's clumsy and messy but Root gasps helplessly at the taste of her teeth and the heat of her tongue.

Shaw lets her into her mouth and kisses her back for long seconds like she's been starving, like she's been waiting for Root to do it before pulling away slightly. She stays still when Root presses their foreheads together and Root listens to her own pulse thunder in her ears while she pants against Shaw's pink mouth.

And Shaw looks like she wants to say something but instead her expression softens in that way that Root didn't use to think Shaw was capable of, that reminds Root too much of that moment in the elevator and Root looks away, hands falling to her sides.

“She needs to give you a break.” Shaw says lowly, reaching up to drag her thumb against the line of Root's jaw until she looks back with glassy eyes.

“A vacation?” Root laughs wetly even though when she looks at Shaw with faint bruises and soft pink scars, it feels like she's crossed the finish line long ago but her legs have not stopped moving. Shaw frowns deeply, stepping back cautiously like she expects Root to fall without her pinning her into place. “Don't be stupid, Shaw.”

“Whatever, Root.” Shaw bites out, walking away completely and Root stares at her as she goes. “The Machine is running you into the ground. She knows that you were looking for me like a crazy person...”

“She doesn't care.” Root interjects with a stale chuckle that makes Shaw stop and her shoulders tense. Shaw looks back at Root then as she straightens her clothes, checks the bullets in her hand gun before tucking it into the back of her pants. Her limp more pronounced as she heads towards the entrance of the subway station.

“Root.” Shaw calls out and when Root hesitates and glances back at her, a million undecipherable emotions flicker across her features and Root watches them all longingly. “Don't forget to check in.”

“Sure, Sam.”

17.

She checks in the early morning with soot in her hair and her skin red from heat.

“What’re you wearing?” Root asks, watching the sun rise with her back against the cold metal of a car door and her ass on the hard asphalt.

Shaw laughs tiredly over the line.

 

18.

The Machine apologizes in time.

There's not a lot of it. John and Root's kamikaze into the Samaritan compound along with their careless use of explosives had unintentionally taken a single Samaritan server offline and since their return to New York, all of their effort and resources have been focused on the chink in the AI's armor. 

But there are stretches of time, really only handfuls of uninterrupted minutes, that are spent with Sameen. The Machine is offering them like atonement.

“It wasn't that bad.” Shaw mutters, unprovoked but already tense like she doesn't know why she talking at all because seconds before she was methodically cleaning Root's gun at Harold's desk while Root typed out code, fingers a blur against the keyboard. Now there are words hanging in the air and Root holds her breath when Shaw doesn’t just let them float away. “They couldn't break me.”

Root's hands slow to a stop, fingers blindly resting on the home row as her stomach tightens almost painfully. She both does and doesn't want to hear about the things that Shaw went through but Shaw doesn't elaborate, just pulls apart Root's handgun smoothly.

“I never thought they would.” Root admits quietly, glancing at Shaw who is frowning as she pulls the clip from the gun and discharges the bullet already in the chamber. It clatters to the desk noisily and Root reaches out to pick it up.

“I'm so glad you're okay, Sameen.” Root murmurs, not for the first time but she feels so incredibly full right now. Of what, its hard to know exactly but it's breathtaking and urgent where it churns behind her ribs.

Shaw glances at her from the corner of her eye and the way she bites back a smirk is so attractive that Root feels it all the way to her heavy bones. “You keep saying that.”

“I keep feeling it.” Root admits softly as Shaw cleans the barrel of the gun with a small brush.

“Such a sap.” Shaw says lowly, Root grins, sliding her chair closer to Shaw until she breathes in the gentle heat radiating from Shaw's body. 

“When you were...” Root hesitates, throat closing off against her words, sealing shut against the almost instant burn at her vocal chords and Shaw pauses to glance at her again.

“Captured.” Shaw supplies and Root nods, watching as she moves on to clean and lubricate the action.

“Captured.” Root says then says it again after a long moment and the word is too sharp and not sharp enough both times she says it but it doesn't feel like the pink of her mouth is sliced to shreds. “I was out of control. I still feel...unbalanced. But John was there and we became-”

“Close.” Shaw finishes for her and Root stares at her profile even though she knows that seeing Shaw's face won't help her decipher the tone of her voice. Careful and low and more air than vibrations. “He said you guys got close.”

“It's true.” Root admits quietly and she half expects Shaw to roll her eyes and get up but instead she starts to methodically put the gun back together. 

“I'm glad that he was there for you.” Shaw speaks stilted but purposeful in a way that makes Root's stomach flutter. “I am kind of invested in you.”

“Invested? Like oil or gold?” Root smiles tentatively and Shaw rolls her eyes despite the affection turning her mouth upwards. The gun is put back together and then Shaw runs a soft cloth over it. “I like to think I’m invaluable.”

“Like, I care if you're dead or alive.” Shaw clarifies, looking at Root with an open expression that makes Root bite back all of the wrong things to say. She inhales slowly instead, the air suddenly turning heavy and buzzing. “That you're okay.”

“You say the sweetest things.” Root finally whispers and the sudden tension in the room gives but does not break. Instead Shaw leans over her to kiss her mouth softly once and Root lets her. “Sameen.”

“Just leave it, Root.” Shaw grunts, kissing her once more before setting the gun down and using the cloth to wipe her hands. “You ever clean this thing?”

“She didn't want us to come for you.” Root blurts and Shaw arches a brow at her.

“The Machine was right.” Shaw says lowly, expression going neutral again. “You shouldn't have come for me.”

“She was wrong, Sameen.” Root murmurs. She tilts her head, watching the way Shaw's jaw clenches when Root says it and she knows that The Machine was so very wrong. “How could we just leave you there when we knew you were alive.”

“Root.” Shaw starts wearily, putting the gun down and turning to face her. The simple action startles Root just a little, makes her sit back in her chair even as Shaw leans forward.

“You never call me Samantha.” Root points out and Shaw rolls her eyes, nudging the gun back towards her but Root doesn't pick it up, turning the bullet over and over in her fingers.

“Why would I? It's not your name.” Shaw says, irritation coloring her words and Root blinks back a sudden sting at her eyes.

“It was killing me, not knowing if you were alive or dead.” Root says firmly and plainly and Shaw glances away. “Not knowing where you were.”

“The Machine was right. Coming after me was dumb and dangerous. You're angry but you're also stupid. The Machine was trying to keep you alive by telling you to stop. You’re lucky you didn’t get yourself killed.Which, by the way, would’ve really pissed me off.” Shaw says and when Root shakes her hair back over her shoulder and thinks about leaving for a while just to find thinner air to breathe.

“If She was really worried about me dying then she would've just helped us.” Root bites out.

“I'm glad she didn't.” Shaw says simply and Root's stomach twists at the easy way such heavy words leave Shaw's gorgeous mouth.

“I couldn't leave you there, Sameen.” Root says after a long moment and Shaw is watching her with that dark, blank look that means there is something there. Something happening in Shaw that Root thinks she'll never be privy to.

“Then I guess I'm lucky you're insane.” Shaw says, eyebrow arching and Root leans forward and bites Shaw's bottom lip.

 

19.

Root stares at the screen of her laptop, fingers aching and eyes blind from zeros and ones. Her back aches and the flickering lights of the subway car are making her dizzy.

“I’m very angry with you.” Root says to the throbbing cursor on screen and there’s hardly no time at all before words appear on their own.

‘I know’

 

20.

“Everything alright.” John asks as Root falls into step with him. Her gun is digging into the small of her back but she doesn’t reach back to adjust it, just shakes her head as she and John make their way down the crowded downtown sidewalk.

“You mean besides the fact that we’re about to kidnap an unsuspecting IT genius?” Root wonders and John smiles slightly. “Everything is peachy.”

“Just like old times.” John says as they come to a stop in front of a massive building that scrapes the sky. The sun is shining down too brightly and the reflection on the buildings windows is blinding.

“John.” Root starts carefully and he looks at her even as people jostle past them on the sidewalk. “I just wanted to say...to say thank you. For everything-”

“If Shaw could hear you now.” John laughs and Root rolls her eyes even as She whispers ‘Go. Now.’ into her ear. “How about dinner. After. If neither of us gets killed in the next three minutes and thirty seconds. Shaw can come too. She seems like the jealous type.”

Root huffs out a laugh as John opens the lobby door for her.

21\. 

Root comes with tears in her eyes.

Shaw doesn’t pretend not to notice.

“Don't run away from me.” Shaw groans quietly, chasing her up the bed with arms like iron around Root's naked hips as her body arches up against then away from Shaw's hot mouth, practically crawling the walls as her orgasm drags a cry from her chest.

“Okay.” Root manages breathlessly, clawing at the cot's bedding as Shaw lowers her head again and Root can feel herself throbbing against her lips. It steals her breath and melts her bones and Root is blinking back tears before she realizes it, dropping against the cot while Shaw kisses her inner thigh sharply.

Shaw's energy is eager, almost needy as she reaches up to grip Root's sides. Like Shaw wants to absorb all of the ragged, manic energy that's been crackling along Root's limbs since she was taken and Root is helpless to do anything but give it to her.

She watches Shaw's lips trail to the outside of her leg sloppily, eyes upturned and dark as she licks a thick stripe against the top of Root's thigh before kissing her way up Root's stomach. She mouths at her struggling chest, twisting her tongue in deliberate circles around her nipple even as she straddles Root's thigh, pressing her wetness against her own unnecessary line of saliva.

“Where are you.” Shaw asks, leaning over to press her lips to Root's, thumb sweeping at the wetness beneath her eyes.Root knows her gaze must be shining and unfocused because Shaw always wants all of her attention when they’re like this.

“I’m with you.” Root gasps as The Machine offers a far more accurate location in her ear and Shaw smiles sharply, rotating her hips slowly while Root drags her nails over her ribs. 

22.

“Oh. Ms. Groves.” Harold greets, shuffling into the station and Root only offers him a sidelong glance before focusing on the glowing monitors again. Her feet are up on his desk like she knows he hates but she doesn't move them. “I thought you and Shaw were assisting John with…”

“The Machine wanted me here, Harold.” Root cuts him off and he hesitates a few feet from her. Harold is a brilliant man but he is not smart enough to know to not come closer.

“I must say, it is nice knowing that our family has been reunited.” Harold tries and Root swivels in her chair, tipping her head to give him an incredulous look.

“And what, exactly, do you know about family, Harold?” Root asks, sweet and cutting and heart pounding. Harold rears back slightly at the accusation coloring the question and Root offers only a patronizing smile.

“Ms. Groves-”

“Family share a close bond, Harold. A bond that is not easily broken and its far more than just being nice to one another. It’s even more than loving each other. It’s never walking away or abandoning hope. If you love something...someone...how could you just...give up on them?” Root asks quietly. She thinks about Harold telling her to stop looking for Shaw and anger flares hot in her chest. “It’s unconditional.”

Root has been caged for so long. In chainlink rooms and in homes with sick mothers, in small towns with big lies. With a collar around her neck that Harold, that The Machine, had pulled tight in hopes of containing her. At least the part of her that was human and angry and hurting, the part that they created.

“There were bigger things at stake, Ms. Groves.” Harold insists and he looks scared when Root stands and turns towards him.

“Nothing is bigger than family, Harold.” Root sighs in disappointment, tucking her hands into her jacket pockets. “When will you understand that?”

“The entire world is at stake-” Harold blusters and Root frowns.

“And I would end it all for Shaw...or John...even you, Harold.”

“I care very deeply for you. For all of you.” Harold insists and Root nods, anger licking at her ribs like flames.

“Family is more than just caring.” Root bites out. “I’m very disappointed in you, Harold. But mostly I feel bad for you.”

“Ms. Groves.”

“But, nevertheless, we are family, Harold, you and I.” Root says almost melodically, almost threateningly. 

“Of course we are. All of us.”

“That means if it had been you, I would have searched the world for you too. I don’t like you very much right now but family isn't really about that either because even today, I would kill for you.” Root says and Harold looks on dumbfounded. His mouth works silently and Root smiles sharp but sad at him before turning away and heading towards the exit. “Have a good night, Harold.”

He barely manages a “Goodnight, Root.” as she goes.


End file.
